Page 74 of The Knockout Rule

Unlike their nights this week, Eric didn’t pull back, ask if she was okay, suggest they slow down. He’d let her lead this whole time, going at her pace, ensuring she was okay. Now he was the one leading them, giving in to his desire, trusting she was ready for this next step.

She gripped his back, let her fingers sink into the muscled grooves, hoping he understood the hard pull of her hands. Take me. Don’t be gentle with me. They kissed harder, moaned. When he pressed his thigh harder against her, she stiffened. Her core clenched. White-hot heat blinded her, so quickly she squeaked out a string of oh gods, convulsing with the release.

She clung to him, her body still shaking, unsure when she’d become a thirteen-year-old boy unable to control his orgasm. “I was kind of worked up before I snuck in.”

His low laugh snaked through her. “You’re about to get more worked up, milaya.”

He hoisted her up by her ass, guided her legs around his waist, his erection so hard and insistent against her she was on the verge again.

He walked them to his bedroom, dropped her on his bed. From this new vantage point, she drank in his sharp cheekbones, those intense eyes, darkened and hungry, the way his briefs looked ready to bust from the strain of containing him. She was so wet her pretty red lace panties felt drenched. Somehow her bathrobe was still on, the material suddenly suffocating and hot. Or maybe that overwhelming constriction was the ache in her chest—the strong clench of her heart, beating hard and fast, filling her veins with an intoxicating rhythm, a percussive symphony conducted by the man standing over her.

Even more rattling was her certainty. There was no hesitation on her end. No worry about opening up more fully to this man, an actual boxer. A soon to be ex-boxer, but still. One of her greatest fears, and the biggest surprise was her utter trust in him.

He hoisted her farther up the bed and joined her on the sheets, laying over her, one thick thigh between her legs, his huge forearms planted on either side of her head. Tenderly, he brushed her hair back. “You make me feel drunk.” He brushed his lips over her ear. “Intoxicated”—he kissed the birthmark on her neck, the dip between her collarbones—“so fucking high on you.”

He kissed her lips, slow and passionate, lighting her every nerve as she arched and moaned and clutched at his back. She was lost to the sensations, wrapped up in Eric’s heat and affection. Her breathing grew shallow. Tight. Intensity so bright it threatened to choke her.

“touch steals words

but skin confesses

in goose bumps

and shivers”

“I need you,” she whispered.

Their foreplay had been too long. Weeks of working together, talking, laughing, pining from the sidelines, while she’d discovered Eric’s mind and kind heart: the Baby Whisperer who studied Latin and knew Japanese proverbs and hadn’t rushed Isla when they’d admitted their affections.

“Podría perderme en tus ojos,” he murmured. A language she couldn’t pinpoint. The words or origin didn’t matter. That look in his hungry eyes? She was done for.

He undid the sash at her waist, unwrapping her like she was a long-awaited gift, the slow movement sending shivers skating across her body. She squirmed for him to touch her harder, fill her up.

The man ignored her desperate moans, but a cocky smile curved the corner of his lips. “Patience,” he murmured and traced the edges of lace around her breasts, scraped his thumb across her erect nipples.

Heat engulfed her. His hands were huge, callused and perfect. Still moving too damn slow. “I need…” She didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Couldn’t focus through the emotions burning through her.

“You’ll get everything you need from me tonight, milaya. But I need this. Need to map every inch of you.” He tugged her lacy bra down, groaned and took his sweet time, licked and sucked her breasts, like he’d never seen a naked woman before.

God, how could a man be this tender and commanding all at once? Taking what he needed, while making her feel like the center of his world.

Deftly, he rolled her over, straddled her from behind. “If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, just tell me. I’ll stop.”

His weight held her down, but she didn’t feel confined. Not with his promise and the care he’d always shown her. With Eric, she felt precious. Like every touch and kiss and move was born of a deeper desire, the need to unlock her secrets. The same way she wanted to explore his body, imprint every scar and valley into her memory, for her greedy desires, then drown this amazing man in pleasure.

She shifted below him, tried to rub herself on the bed, find some relief. “The only thing that’s making me uncomfortable is that we’re not completely naked.”

He chuckled. “Good things come to those who wait.”

His cotton-clad erection settled into the crease of her ass, turning her on even more. Hot molten fire throbbing painfully. She wiggled again, to no avail. Gave up and pressed the side of her face to the mattress, closing her eyes, letting him take charge, but that unequivocal trust suddenly felt harder. This type of letting go wasn’t just about sex for her. Her whole life she’d been thinking five steps ahead, anticipating the scenarios that would set her off at work or with her father, protecting herself while limiting herself at the same time. Being intimate with Eric meant giving up control.

He splayed his huge hands on her lower back, pressed down slightly as he squeezed her waist. The heavier his weight on her, the lighter she felt.

Eyes closed. Trust. Faith. Let go.

He glided his hands up, his hips rocking in the tiniest motions, rubbing his erection against her as he unhooked her bra’s clasp. She relaxed into his caress, the soft scrape of his calloused hands. Reveled in his throaty moans and grunts—masculine sounds sending vibrations along her skin. Eyes closed. Trust. Faith. Let go. With him, she could do this. Be this. Take enjoyment for herself and open her heart.

He lifted her arms above her head, gathered her wrists in one hand, held them down as he lowered himself onto her, his hard chest to her back, his pelvis over her bottom. “Fuck, milaya.”